The Ending
The ending. A fitting term. It has, in fact, ended. I write this from my one small corner, the small space that I worked to deem "safe". Every day, every horrible day is a struggle to stay sane. Ah, I am getting ahead of myself. I suppose I should start with a brief summary of what happened. My name is Ridley Peirce. I made a living as a freelance writer. I had a studio apartment in Toronto. I drove a Ford F-250. I lived on junior mints. And yet, I was still happy. Doing my passion, living in peace. Then it happened. I use the term "it" because the public in general was never informed what it was. The widest speculation was that it was some result of pollution, thus is the general politician's idealism. It took effect on the 16th of June, 1998. I remember it vividly. I was not getting any good deals on my scripts, so I was down on my money. I went to the corner store to get a few groceries, and I heard it. An absolute blood-curdling scream. I glanced toward the front of the store. Everyone was running. My first thought was a murder. I had never seen a murder, but I had seen a man get mugged, and that alone was not pretty. It was then that I saw my first infected. In life, he was a middle aged man, probably worked construction, he was dressed like it. Now, in this state, he was clammy and pale. He had a long claw mark on his left arm, and his eyes were bloodshot and puffy. He is not alone. A careless shopper had gotten tangled in the crowd of frantic people, and the infected had gotten to him. To his good fortune he had had a quick death- his throat bitten out. He, as I had later figured out, was one of the lucky ones. The infected ate his corpse as I and the other panicked shoppers watched. A loud bang resonated in the air. The owner of the store had gotten his .12 gauge shotgun, and very quickly eliminated the infected. As soon as the infected who was in the way of the door was clear, I was out the door. My mission in life was now to get to my truck. I kept my Colt .45 in the glove compartment. I had a feeling that whatever these things were, there were more. I made it to my truck, I climbed in, I locked the doors, I fumbled for my keys, and roared off down main street. I was shaken, and didn't know where to go. I looked back, and saw the infected crowding around the store, attracted by the noise. As I drove by some houses and a coffee shop, I saw a large group of them. They were dressed like normal people. A company T-shirt here, a dress there. I was clueless. All that I knew was that I needed to get away from these things as fast as I could. Now, on me, I only had my knife, my .45, my keys, my wallet, my zippo, and some quarters. Not the best selection to fight the hoard with. As I drove toward my house, I saw not more, but tons more. On the sides of the road, Near houses, IN houses. as I drove, far exceeding the speed limit, I would occasionally glance out my window. I saw people running from the infected. People fighting the infected. People getting eaten by the infected. I pulled into my driveway. I saw my neighbor running out of the building. I saw an infected version of my landlord running after him. I remember shooting him. Guess he won`t be bothering me about rent anymore. I ran inside. I ran to my apartment. I locked the door, and barricaded it with my dresser and bed. I board up the two windows. I gather my wits. I needed to find out what was going on. I turn on the T.V. Nothing. I sat down, and I waited. That was 5 days ago. I ran out of decent food 3 days ago. Running water stopped just before that. Oh, god, the dehydration is horrible....But I still have my handgun. 4 rounds. enough for 3 infected. if it comes to that, I'll know what to do. Category:Mental Illness Category:Cryptids